Just Human
by sss979
Summary: Hex and Ace and a few bottles of wine, discussing and exploring what it means to be human. (Tasteful adult content as per M rated movie)


**Just Human**

"Don't you ever want to just be human for a while? Even just for a little while?"

Ace frowned as she considered that, pulling her legs underneath her as she leaned forward, elbows on her knees. "I don't know," she finally admitted. "Traveling with the Doctor, I think you sort of forget what 'normal' is like."

"Forget normal. Just to be _human_. Let yourself feel."

She could tell by the look on Hex's face, as she glanced over to where he was sitting beside her on the sofa, that whatever he was saying, she was not hearing. She had a feeling that this conversation was about to turn a little more introspective than usual. Of course, that was Hex. He liked introspection. And he liked things like "feeling." She didn't mind, really. It just still struck her as a bit... foreign. She reached forward, to the bottle on the coffee table, and poured another glass of wine.

"You see all this stuff, you go through it. The exhaustion, the hopelessness, the people dyin' in your arms." He was studying her with genuine curiosity. "And it's like it doesn't even faze you. Like you don't even notice."

"Yeah. So?"

"That's not human, Ace. That's the Doctor. Human beings, we hurt. We grieve."

She shrugged as she pushed the cork back into the top of the bottle - their second bottle in the past hour - and took a sip before she let the glass settle between her fingertips, dangling in front of her legs. "There's usually not a lot of time for that," she pointed out.

"Humans _make _time."

She raised a brow at him, and smirked slightly. "You saying I'm not human?"

He shrugged. "I dunno. Not real sure what I'm saying anymore." He looked up at her and smiled. "Think it's the wine talking."

She was quiet. Fingers tracing up and down the stem of her wine glass, she let her mind wander. She couldn't even count the number of deaths she'd witnessed in the past few weeks. There had been a time - it seemed like such a long time ago, but really it was only a few years - when she had needed time to grieve the horrors of war. After Colditz, after the death and devastation she had witnessed there, she had asked - all but demanded, really - to be taken somewhere "normal." Somewhere to recover. But more people had died. And worse, she'd stared her past in the face. It seemed she couldn't run far enough, even with a time machine, to escape where she had come from.

Looking back on it, she wasn't sure if the Doctor had genuinely tried to give her what she'd asked for, to let her enjoy a few minutes of normalcy. She could never be sure. He was most honest when he lied, and she could never tell when he was giving her the truth. It had taken her years to accept that, to learn how to trust him unconditionally even when she knew he was manipulating her. He held his cards impossibly close to his chest, and he could make the entire world dance to his tune - including her. Questionably moral, questionably compassionate, but never questionably loyal. She knew he would always be there in the end. He was the one thing in her life that never changed, through the years.

"That's just the Doctor," she muttered quietly, almost to herself.

"What is?"

She glanced sideways at Hex. "Traveling with him, I guess you just learn how to adapt. Because it doesn't stop just because you want time to reflect on it all, time to grieve."

"And to heal?"

She lowered her eyes again to the dark grooves on her wrist where the handcuffs had rubbed her raw. She'd taken the bandages off days ago, but she could still feel the ache in her joints when she flexed her fist. She could still see the scabs that would turn to scars. Just one more to add to the collection...

"I've had time to heal," she reminded him. "We've done nothing but drift in the Tardis for over a week now."

"That's not what I meant."

She looked up again and met his gaze. There was compassion there, and concern. Hex was not like the Doctor. He was virtually transparent in comparison. He meant what he said and said what he meant. He was honest to a fault, and braver than he knew. And ridiculously attractive.

Now _that_ was the wine talking.

She smiled to herself as she took another sip. Hex was a bit of an enigma to her. This life - traveling in the Tardis and facing down demon after demon - it terrified him. But he stayed. It had been over a year now since she'd met him at St. Gart's. And in all that time, he'd hardly changed a bit. He'd grown in strength; his mind had expanded. But the core of who he was - that basically good, shockingly genuine, compassionate man - hadn't changed in the least. If anything, it had gained new depth.

Sometimes she really admired his ability to be so true to himself.

"I guess..." He hesitated for a long moment, then took a long drink, as if building up his courage. "I just wanted to know how you do it."

"How I do what?"

"How do you let this stuff just roll off you? How do you go through all that and not let it affect you? I mean, you were _tortured_, Ace! I don't even know how to feel about that and I wasn't the one who went through it. But you and the Doctor, you just go on like nothing even happened. And I don't get it."

He was studying her, trying to understand. She wanted to explain, wanted to give him an answer. But she didn't really have an answer to give him. She didn't know how she did it. So many years had made it seem almost natural.

He looked away and took another long drink, emptying his glass before reaching for the bottle again and refilling it. "You're so strong, Ace. Like you never need anything or anyone."

She held out her glass for him to top it off. The bottle was empty. Time to move on to a third.

"'Cept the Doctor, I guess," Hex continued. "Sometimes I can hardly tell you two apart."

She smiled faintly. "Yeah. I guess that's the point, though."

"What is?"

"That inability to tell where one begins and the other ends. That's what it means to be a team, Hex."

"Yeah? And what does it mean to be human? What does that mean to _you_? 'Cause it sure doesn't seem like it means the same thing it means to me."

"What does it mean to you?"

"Feeling. Needing. I mean... isn't that what the cybermen try to take _out _of humanity? What makes us human? Just that... being a bit frail and the fact that it's okay. 'Cause we're all like that. We're all just human."

She hesitated, then looked away and took another drink. "I feel. I guess I'm just better at choosing what I let myself feel."

"That's not feeling. And it's sure not needing."

She looked at him curiously, waiting for him to continue.

"When you need something, you can't choose not to need it. You die without it. You become... something else. Something not human."

"What do you need, Hex?"

The question, point blank, seemed to catch him off guard. He frowned as he shook his head. "Nothing. Not right now, I mean. I'm just... it's you."

"What do you mean?"

"I guess I need to know that you're..." He sighed, irritated at his inability to explain, and hesitated for a long moment before he took another drink and started again, more calmly. "I just need somebody. Somebody human. To talk to, to understand... Or to _not _talk and still understand. The Doctor's wonderful; he really is. But he's not human. And sometimes it feels like you're just as cold and detached as he is, like I'm the only one here who needs to... to get out of my head."

She watched him. He was flustered and nervous and anxious and stressed. He was feeling the effects of the wine, and it was lowering his guard, and his ability to contain all of those emotions. And for just a moment, she could feel all of them as if they were her own.

"You and the Doctor... you're the only family I've got. And I'm right here with you and sometimes I still feel so... so alone. Not lonely, really. Just alone. Like I'm the only one who has to deal with feeling like this."

He hung his head between his shoulders, and for a moment, he was very still. Then, slowly, he looked up. Ace watched him silently, not sure what to say. Finally, she shifted the wineglass to one hand and set the other on his leg. She didn't have to reach; he was near enough to make the comforting gesture feel very natural.

"I'm here," she said quietly.

He stared at her for a long moment. She could see the conflicting emotions in his eyes, and she smiled faintly, reassuringly. She didn't flinch as he reached up and touched the side of her face. In fact, she nuzzled her cheek against his hand, ever so slightly, letting her eyes slide closed. His hand was warm, if a bit callused, and she suddenly realized that it had been a very long time since she'd been touched this way. Affection was not lacking in her relationship with the Doctor, but it was never physical. And Hex...

His lips against hers, soft and warm, interrupted her thoughts. Instinct made her pull back, but she didn't get far before she stopped herself. He wasn't following, wasn't demanding. He just watched her. And for once, his eyes were impossible to read. Everything she might have expected to see there - uncertainty and need and desperation - wasn't. There was nothing dishonest or manipulative in what he'd said to her, she was sure. He felt alone. But he wasn't trying to fill a gap in who he was by forcing her into a role. There was a sort of patient calm in the way he looked at her, in the way he held her cheek. He wasn't pleading; he was asking. Maybe it was even simpler than that. He wasn't asking. He was inviting.

Very slowly, she leaned in close to him again, rubbing her nose against his, letting their lips brush lightly a few times before she finally tipped her chin and kissed him. He responded slowly, moving his hand back into her hair and massaging gently as her lips parted hesitantly. She felt his fingers brush hers, gently taking the glass from her hand and setting it on the coffee table before pressing forward, pushing her back. She shifted, unfolding her legs and turning to put her back on the armrest. He followed, bracing with one arm and holding her with the other, not breaking the kiss until she'd settled, and he was free to move around her. Then he dipped his head, placing warm, gentle kisses along her jaw, down the center of her throat.

A part of her mind was protesting. But the words it formed died on her lips. He settled his weight on his knees as his hands pushed her T-shirt up slowly, his warm mouth following the cool kiss of the air. She shivered, and reached for him.

"Hex..."

He didn't pause, didn't hesitate. Lips and teeth and tongue caressed her sensitive skin, and his hands moved to her hips, holding her as tightly as she was gripping his shoulders. As he dragged his tongue from her navel down to the waistline of her jeans, she could feel the warmth pooling between her thighs - anticipation of the unknown, of the forbidden.

Her lips parted, drawing in the dry, cool air of the Tardis - the taste of the wine lingering on her tongue as she filled her lungs. He was unfastening her jeans, and she wasn't resisting. In fact, she was helping him, raising her hips to meet his hands as he slowly stripped her from the waist down. She closed her eyes as her fingers clawed at the scratchy, thick upholstery of the sofa, its threads making popping and cracking sounds under her nails. Hex's hands were smoothing over her legs, parting them as he sank down and drew his warm, moist tongue along the inside of her thigh. It left a cooling trail in its wake, and she moaned at the contrast - hot and cold, soft and hard, tongue and teeth. Her muscles were tensing, back arching up, body tightening in anticipation of that first touch...

And then his mouth was right where she wanted it to be, sending quick jolts of pleasure along her nerves with the warm, throbbing sensation that set the pace for her hips to follow. She turned her face to the back of the sofa, her hot cheek against cool hair. The sound of her breathing, thick and heavy and so impossibly loud, was like a song she'd forgotten she knew the words to. But so familiar. No, not familiar. Instinctive.

So this was how it felt to be human...

And then his warm, probing mouth was gone. As she reeled with the confused longing for more, she barely even comprehended his hands on her arms, pulling her up. She gave him no resistance; for once it felt completely natural to be led. Onto her knees, onto his lap as he sat back against the arm of the sofa. He'd kicked his shorts off, and his hands quickly stripped her shirt over her head before he held her ribs and leaned in, crushing her mouth with his. She responded to the intensity through a hazy blur of sensation. Need and want, instinct and intimacy. She could taste herself on his tongue, and could feel the unfamiliar, primal urges taking over. She sank down onto him with a deep, satisfied moan.

"Oh my god..."

Holding his shoulders for balance and for leverage, she gave her body over to the rhythm as old as time itself. For just a moment, she couldn't help but analyze it. The unique biochemistry of alike species driving them to procreation, to ensure the survival of the genetic code. But those thoughts were dismissed as quickly as they flitted across her mind. Whatever the reason that their bodies fit together so perfectly, it didn't matter right now. All that mattered was that it felt incredible.

She dropped her head against his neck, rocking with him, raking her nails over the fabric of his shirt and then further down his arms, leaving red trails behind. His skin was slick and warm and salty, and she could feel his pulse under her tongue, racing even faster than his labored breathing. Perfectly natural, perfectly right, the experience was not at all how she'd remembered it from all those years ago. A stammering teenager, madly in love with a complete asshole, unsure of her worth and her experience, unaware of her own body and the simplicity of the magnetism that drew hard to soft, fullness to emptiness, male to female. Her mind had been full of fears and awkward reasoning and performance anxiety. But right now, she could think of nothing but how simply, perfectly _good _this felt.

He was stuttering. In between gasps and moans, his hands gripping her hips tightly, he was moaning her name. She took a moment to look at him, and she smiled. He really was a sight - sandy blonde hair sticking out in all directions, eyes closed hard, a thin sheen of sweat across his brow. His hips thrust harder and her eyes rolled back as she felt herself begin to fall - that moment of perfect, weightless suspension before gravity took hold. Inevitable release, complete abandon, the chemical release that washed her mind white...

And then she was crashing down, nails digging into his flesh, her whole body moving to the rhythm that pulsed through him and into her. She let herself drift, weightless, not even bothering to hold her head up as the release wrapped her up and eased her down. Suddenly, there was no pain, no loss, no thoughts of tomorrow. No thoughts of anything, in fact. She was lost to the pleasure rippling along every nerve in her body, centered on that one place that was hers and hers alone.

It was only when her own cries subsided, when she realized the volume of Hex's moans, that it occurred to her that their voices were echoing off the high ceiling. Not that it mattered. The Doctor, if he was around to hear anything at all, would almost certainly never mention it. She hardly thought he'd have an opinion about it at all, in fact. Still, she touched a finger to Hex's lips as his final groan of release turned into rapid gasps for air. Then she covered his mouth with hers and slid her arms around his neck, clinging to him in a way that felt almost childlike. She didn't care. She didn't care how she looked, or what he thought of her. For a moment, all she could think about was how simply relaxed she felt.

His arms circled her waist, pulling her body flush against his. He buried his face in her neck, in her hair, hugging her tightly as he whispered a few more unintelligible exclamations. She breathed in slow, deep, and shuddered as she let it out. She could still feel the muscles in her thighs twitching. Weak and wobbly, she lowered her weight onto his thighs and rested her forehead against his, nuzzling him gently.

"Thanks, Hex," she murmured, still out of breath. "I think... I really needed that."

"My pleasure," he answered.

The thought crossed her mind, only briefly, that he might very well interpret this brief moment of feeling in all the wrong ways. But she couldn't hold that thought. She was too exhausted, and too busy smiling to worry about things like that. Not now. That would be a problem for another day. For now, she simply took a deep breath, shifted her weight until she was leaning comfortably on him, and rested her head on his shoulder, letting her mind drift away.


End file.
